'We can't lose touch but we can let go
The dark seeks dark'.
Chuck was running over numbers in his head as he pulled his pants on, reaching for his shirt and deciding on the perfect tie.
He'd spent most of the night before prepping for this meeting. Since Bart had got back, he'd actually – so far – made an effort to include Chuck in Bass Industries. Provided he did the work. There was still the sense that his father was testing him in some way, waiting for him to mess it up; but he was apparently serious about Chuck being serious.
And Chuck was serious. He'd much rather think about numbers and hotels and stock-markets than the brunette whose photo smirked down at him, now, from his shelves. Technically it was a photo of the four of them, but still his eyes only ever moved to one face when he looked at it.
Nate and Serena kept whining that all either of them seemed to do nowadays was work. Chuck stayed later and later at Bass Industries every night – and Blair had joined every society and study group she possibly could, taking on every extra assignment or errand available at W. Ambitious was all they were being. Focused. Not avoiding their shared penthouse at all. Not avoiding the unbearable ache he got just from being in the same room as her. Not avoiding the emptiness in the pit of his stomach every time he went to bed and she wasn't there. He was concentrating on Bass Industries just like he needed to.
He frowned as he heard the elevator ping; he moved out of his room, still buttoning up his shirt. And he paused when he saw Raina Thorpe, of all people, standing in his living room.
"Can I help you?" he enquired.
She smiled faintly. She wore a tight purple dress, black hair straightened and glossy as ever. "I hope so."
"I didn't realise the Thorpes were back in Manhattan."
She tilted her head. "Oh, my dad's still in Chicago. It's just me." Her gaze flipped over his still open shirt, and she grinned a little.
Chuck arched an eyebrow back. "And what brings you here?"
At that, she laughed. "Aren't you going to offer me a drink? Then we can...talk."
Carter woke up late and hungover to a missed call from Evelyn. He managed to repress an eye-roll as he tossed his phone aside. Clearly the woman wasn't going to get the message that Chuck and Blair weren't together any time soon. And he really couldn't be bothered with another conversation where she told, again, him how close they'd always been. No one belonged together, he thought with irritation as he swung his legs out of bed.
There was an arrangement of flowers in the hall from Tish - thanks for letting us stay, angel! - that had arrived yesterday from England. From what he gathered, Max's attempts at getting a foothold in her uncle's business hadn't gone too well and he'd had to admit defeat before returning home with Tish.
Carter's bed was horribly empty without her; he had no doubt she was having fun frittering away the rest of her term at Cambridge.
He ignored his phone as Evelyn called again.
Raina glanced at Chuck over her martini glass. She played a good game, but he already knew why she'd really turned up. Thorpe Enterprise was in trouble. So he just needed to work out exactly what she was after from him. He smiled flatly over at her as she set her glass down and leaned a little closer on the sofa. He smelt desperation under that playful confidence.
He'd have to leave for his meeting soon anyway – he needed to wrap this up.
"So how's business going?" Raina smiled. "You look like you've been working hard. Not too hard," she added, teasing, "I hope."
Chuck was just about to turn the question on her when the elevator went again. He barely had time to register that familiar click of heels before she was suddenly there. In the living room.
She'd clearly been en route to her room; she'd stopped, now, as she stared between him and Raina.
"Blair."
The name was low his throat as he glanced at her. She wore a dark grey coat, cream scarf and maroon hat – buttoned up against the cold outside, a stark contrast to his own loosely fastened shirt and the polished expanse of Raina's skin as she leaned next to him.
"I thought you had an economics class."
Those brown eyes landed on his hint of bare chest, skimming past Raina. Raina's long bare legs, crossed, and the glass in Raina's hand.
Her face was carefully blank. "It was cancelled. I just came to pick up my laptop." It came out strange, even to her; "I thought you had a meeting." She'd thought the penthouse would be empty when she returned – that was the only reason she hadn't gone straight to W. "Sorry for interrupting." She turned, swiftly, and was already heading for her room.
Chuck glared after her in silence.
Raina cleared her throat. "So when you said Blair wasn't your girlfriend..."
"She's not," Chuck snapped.
Raina raised a brow. "But you're living together?" She wasn't buying that for a second.
"She's one of my oldest friends," Chuck snarled. He refused to get up and follow her into her room.
Raina just glanced at him. "Nothing more?"
But Chuck was no longer bothering to listen. "I have a meeting to get to," he said, curtly. "You can see yourself out." He didn't bother waiting for an answer either.
She was the one who'd ended it. She was the one who'd jumped to the assumption with Raina – and why wouldn't she? They'd spent the past few weeks avoiding each other, and she was obviously fine with that arrangement. He couldn't give her what she wanted. Not enough. He was staying out of her life forher. So if she thought he was sleeping around like Chuck Bass always did then she could move on. Just like she wanted.
Except he'd never wanted to sleep with anyone else less.
Blair was still in her coat when she re-emerged, laptop in her bag and ready to go. She'd have given anything to avoid him before she got the elevator, but he was still in the living room. He had his back to her; lazily, deliberately adjusting his cufflinks as he gazed into the mirror. Her reflection appeared behind his, just for a moment, across the room.
"Is there a problem, Waldorf?" he drawled.
"Of course not."
It was little more than a snap, and something about her white face and tight, forced indifference made his insides burn. "You're not jealous, are you?" He regarded her image in the mirror.
She looked, for a moment, like she was swallowing back bile. "I'm just not surprised." Her voice almost cracked with the effort of keeping it cool, an attempt to be acidic. Her lips tightened. "Although if that was Raina Thorpe, I don't think you should make it a habit. Unless you want to end up with a knife in your back."
He gazed at her evenly. "And you care because?" It was supposed to be a sneer, but his voice wasn't quite working properly and he hated himself for it.
"I don't," Blair bit. "I just thought you were a little smarter."
"Well, I appreciate the advice. But I think I'd rather take the sex."
Blair flinched and then swallowed it. "Fine." It was almost a whisper, her eyes darker than usual as she ripped them away from his reflection and disappeared. She didn't look back.
"So you'll, uh, read it over for me?"
It was the article on Tish that Dan was currently waving in front of Blair's face; she managed to repress an eye-roll. She had no particular desire to read over his infatuated scribblings. "I'll think about it. If I have nothing better to do." She glanced up as her pager went - Epperly. "But right now I have gift bags to arrange." She dropped the article into her desk tray and grabbed her coat; Epperly was already stressed enough, and monthly reports were coming up.
Dan sighed as she disappeared. Since Tish had returned to England for the rest of her term at Cambridge, he hadn't quite plucked up the courage to skype her. All his interviews with her while she'd been here had passed in a confusing, beautiful blur. He couldn't believe that someone who studied at Cambridge University could possibly not have read...well, anything. She seemed to have a complete disregard for literature that honestly baffled him. He'd tried to show her his favourite movies, sure that she'd be moved - and she'd frowned a little at the subtitles and asked him why on earth she'd read a film. She had no desire to go to art galleries - darling, why are we looking at these squiggles? - and when he'd taken her to see one of his favourite spoken word performances, she'd pointed out that it couldn't possibly be a real play because no one wore jeans to the theatre.
In short, she bemused him. And he seemed to bemuse her too - but still his head swelled with pride every time she asked him about his writing, and she did seem genuinely interested by the prospect of someone being so studious. He was hoping he'd be able to help guide her towards her own intellectual enlightenment.
He was still daydreaming of Tish as he headed out of the W building; which was why it took him a moment to recognise the figure lurking outside. But he'd seen that lurker enough times at Canterbury Accademy.
"Damien?"
Damien's eyes slitted when he took him in. He'd been hoping to run into Blair - not Dan fucking Humphrey. He'd heard all about their internship together, and he hated it.
"What are you doing here?" Dan already knew the answer as he gazed at him with obvious distrust. "Look, don't you think it's about time you left Blair alone?"
Damien curled his lip. "Oh look," he sneered. "Humphrey dumpty to the rescue. But I'm actually meeting her here, so this is none of your business."
Dan just shook his head. "No, you're not." He knew Damien well enough to know that, even if he hadn't already known Blair was busy with Epperly. He ran a hand through his hair. "And I think Blair would be kind of pissed if she knew-"
"Knew what?" Damien snarled. "What the hell are you going to do about it, Humphrey? Write a short story in your diary?"
Dan's face creased at the low blow. Seriously, what was this guy's problem? "Hey, man-"
"Face it. You're not going to do anything, because you never do. And this has nothing to do with you anyway - so do everyone a favour and get lost." Daminen was positively spitting, the loathing in his eyes palatable. "You stick your nose where it's not wanted, and you're gonna regret it."
"Is that a threat?" Dan demanded, a little outraged. And kind of creeped out.
"It's a promise," Damien hissed.
He stalked off, leaving Dan seriously creeped out. He'd seen on Gossip Girl that Blair had been going to a few events with Damien - now he had actual proof that it was a seriously bad idea. He needed to call her.
Bart was working in the Bass study when his cell went.
"Father." Chuck's voice was slightly stiff down the phone line. He never called his father - they didn't usually speak unless they had to.
"Chuck." Bart was also aware that his son never called; his eyes were already narrowed. "What is it? Did something happen in the meeting?" This was, after all, the first meeting he'd let Chuck fly solo in - he paused as he tried to work out what could have possibly gone wrong -
"No. The meeting was fine." The boy's voice suddenly got a lot cooler. Of course that was the assumption Bart had jumped to. "It went well."
There was a tight feeling in Bart's chest at the rigid admission, so he switched back into business mode. "I'm glad to hear it. Is that," he asked curtly, "Why you're calling?"
"No," Chuck muttered. He cleared his throat. "I thought you should know that Raina Thorpe is back in town. And I think she's looking for trouble."
Bart repressed a sigh. He knew what that was about - Avery had found out about Russell and Evelyn and was threatening to leave her husband. The scandal had leaked, and it looked like Avery wasn't going to stop till she'd dragged his name completely through the mud. Bart suspected Raina had gone to Chuck in search of some kind of revenge. "I'll handle it."
He heard Chuck scoff, faintly. "I can deal with Raina." There was a pause. "I just thought you'd like to know."
Bart paused too. "Well, if you're sure-"
"I am." It was almost a snap.
Bart closed his eyes briefly, pressing his fingers into his temples. But his tone was frosty and efficient as ever when he spoke. "All right. Thank you."
He could have been thanking a client.
Chuck hung up first.
Bart set the phone down and got back to his papers. He tended to avoid working from home as much as possible, but Evelyn was at the spa and he'd taken the opportunity, knowing she'd be out, to sort through his filing cabinets. He wasn't supposed to be back at all - but he'd prefer to get his paperwork done without his wife there.
He moved into the living room to pour himself a glass of scotch. Except the liquor cabinet was, of course, empty. Clearly Evelyn hadn't bothered to restock it. Rolling his eyes, Bart headed for Chuck's room. He knew damn well that his son always kept aside at least a bottle, and with any luck he hadn't taken all of it with him when he'd moved out. It was a ridiculous state of affairs when Bart had to go rifling through his son's room just to get a bottle of his own damn liquor.
Chuck's desk was empty, and the pictures that had once been on his walls were no doubt hanging in his new penthouse. If the meeting really had gone well then he'd done well for himself, Bart knew. He shoved aside that snap he'd heard in his son's voice and pulled open the first drawer, flicking over papers.
It was only because he recognised one of Andrew Tyler's reports that he paused for a moment.
He knew Evelyn used their private investigator for her own purposes, but he hadn't been aware Chuck did too. His frown deepened when he read the name on top of the sheet.
Blair Waldorf.
He remembered seeing her at that State Dinner - and he remembered, all too sharply, what she'd told him. He didn't involve himself in his Chuck's love life; but Blair Waldorf, he did remember. Why the hell was his son investigating her?
Chuck returned to his apartment to find a curly mop awaiting him.
Actually, the curly mop was peering at his bookcase and checking out his books like he still hadn't quite worked out what was acceptable in society - or more specifically, in someone else's home.
"Do I know you?" Chuck enquired. He actually recognised the mop as Dan Humphrey, but only because of Blair.
Dan jumped. He did at least have the courtesy to flush and back away from the shelves. "Uh, I didn't realise you were a Bronte fan." Then again, maybe the whole gothic thing did fit that dark hair and black, slanted eyes. He'd heard about Chuck Bass, and the guy was no less intimidating in the flesh.
Chuck arched an eyebrow. He was swift to cut Humphrey off before he could launch into a rambling literary discussion about his favourite books. "Is there a reason that you're in my penthouse?"
"I was...uh, I was actually looking for Blair." Humphrey rubbed a hand along the back of his head, awkward. "Do you know when she'll be back?"
"Not for another few hours. At least."
Dan shifted on his feet. Crap. "But...I mean, Epperly can't keep her working that long." He laughed nervously. "That's practically slave labour." He'd tried calling Blair after his confrontation with Damien a couple of days ago, but she'd brushed him off. He'd wanted to talk to her face to face so she'd actually listen, but she'd been too busy (well, obssessed, really) with proving herself to Epperly for her review to have time for him.
Chuck just rolled his eyes at that. "Unlike you, I'm sure, Waldorf does have a life outside of W." And many obsessions besides. "She's at a gala."
Dan stilled. "Is she with Damien?" A gala sounded exactly like the kind of thing Damien Dalgaard would take her to. And if that were the case -
Chuck's gaze slanted a little. "Yes. Why?" He noticed that Dan Humphrey looked decidedly uneasy.
"I just..." He shook his head. "Uh, I need to speak to her. And she won't really listen to me. Any time I mention Damien, she goes on about this table thing, and..."
"La Table Elitaire," Chuck corrected drily. But he was watching him now. "What about Damien?"
Dan swallowed a little. He didn't know Chuck Bass. Then again, he looked like the kind of person who could actually deal with this. "He's...uh, he's not exactly a great guy. Trust me. I was at school with him-"
Chuck stopped him there. His gaze had narrowed even further; he knew he'd been right in thinking Damien was a creep. "Start at the beginning."
Blair had agreed to the gala for the sole reason that Monsieur Dupres would be attending, but the truth was that she felt like screaming. She was in her element at things like this - she had been for weeks now - but it was the same people she was smiling and shaking hands with, and Damien was hardly the best of company. She'd heard Dan's warnings; and yes, Damien was undoubtedly a perv. But there was still something easy about being with him. He knew the Blair from Canterbury Accademy, and she'd never needed to impress him before - in all honesty, he was one of the only people whose opinion of her made no difference. It was even easier than being with Dan, because he actively encouraged all those traits of hers she'd decided to resume.
Throwing herself into work was supposed to take up all her energy. And still she couldn't stop that restless, empty feeling. She was achieving - she was focused and busy, so busy she'd hardly had time to stop and think. Because if she actually stopped and thought she was terrified she'd lose her mind. If she didn't have a mark or a position or a report to strive for then she'd realise exactly what it was that she was missing.
Just like boarding school. Just like she'd wanted.
She was seated at the moment, hands folded on her lap and Damien at her side as she listened to the speeches at the podium. There was a faint ripple throughout the room as the next speaker was announced. Toby Lloyd-Davis. Blair glanced at the guy as he took his place. She recognised him. Lloyd-Davis – she'd seen him at Lily's party. (Which led her thoughts to a moment in a bathroom that she really didn't want to think about now because it still hurt too much).
Damien was muttering into her now, a note of glee in his voice – she'd have to get him to move in a second, because he was way too close – as he told her he knew Toby himself.
"I went to prep school with him, he was practically retarded. He's only here because he inherited his dad's company – Rudolph Lloyd-Davis?" He snickered. "The guy must be turning in his grave."
Blair's nose wrinkled at the tasteless comment as she glanced at Toby again, if only to avoid the unpleasant company next to her.
He looked a little less pale than he had at Lily's; he had a faint smile and warm brown eyes. He was tall, like Tish, and he definitely didn't look retarded. Blair couldn't think of anything worse than addressing a room full of people in the wake of a man as impressive as Rudolph Lloyd-Davis – especially right after he'd died. Especially if he was your own father. If she'd had to talk about Waldorf Designs right after -
She suddenly shook herself, irritated. What was the foreign feeling creeping up on her? Sympathy? She didn't do sympathy. Or, even worse, empathy. At this rate she'd be traipsing round orphanages to hug every child just because they'd lost parents too. She'd distanced herself from orphans and their tragic stories a long time ago.
Still, she rolled her eyes in annoyance and tuned out Damien's stream of criticism to watch the guy speak. She didn't know why Damien was proving particularly unbearable at the moment
"Come on," Damien leaned over as the speeches finally wrapped up. "Let's get a drink."
He went to take her hand, but she brushed past him. She didn't know why tonight felt quite so stifling; why that irritation seethed through her still. "I think I can walk by myself."
There was no warmth in her voice, and he swallowed a grimace. "Of course you can." Chuck had obviously done something to upset her - shocker - but being her shoulder to cry on was proving near on impossible. Persistance. That was what he needed. He guided her in the direction of an elderly couple, sure their pedigree would have her hooked. He knew she lived for impressing people like the Bellmonts. Briony Bellmont, nee Harriman, was the daughter of the Colony Club's founding member. Blair tried hard not to roll her eyes at the prospect of being trapped in conversation with the geriatrics. (What was wrong with her?) This was going to be a long night.
They were mid-introductions when Damien spotted someone else, clearly on his way to the bar. His smile was oily as he called out. "Tobes." He smirked. The guy had no chance but to acknowledge him and come over.
"Damien." He glanced round their group, cool, as Damien shook his hand. "It's been a while."
"Too long." Damien's eyes glinted like there was some kind of private joke. Blair doubted it was particularly funny. "Great speech, by the way. Good to see that you've got over your reading problems."
"Reading problems?" Mrs. Bellmont enquired. She and her pompous husband glanced him over. They all knew Rudolph Lloyd-Davis. His son they knew far less - though they'd heard the rumours that he didn't have what it took to run his father's company.
"Poor Tobes didn't have the best time at school," Damien grinned. Nastily. "Dyslexia, aren't they calling it now? I hear it runs in the family."
Toby paused. His glanced at Damien but he didn't say anything. He seemed quite calm.
"I don't believe in dyslexia," Mrs. Bellmont was commenting airily. "In my day, we simply called a person illiterate." Blair rolled her eyes at the obnoxious old woman while her husband nodded in agreement. Anyone with half a brain cell could see that the guy wasn't illiterate.
Damien looked almost gleeful. Toby had been quiet and good-looking in prep school; accademic skill had always been the one weapon Damien could wave in his face. Which he'd waved, over and over, because Toby had always been near impossible to provoke. "But like I said - great job." He clapped him on the back. "What was it Emerson said? A good speech should always end sooner than one, uh, dares hope." He smirked again over at Blair. "Yours definitely did that."
Toby tilted his head. "I thought that was Lord Reading," he said, mildly.
Damien's smile faded, but his eyes slid to Blair once more like he was expecting her to be on his side. To laugh with him. Blair, however, had had about enough. "Emerson said that a good speech needs a desperate drunkeness on a certain belief." Her gaze was cutting, and she dragged out the word desperatequite deliberately. Damien didn't miss it. "Speaking of which," she added brittly, "I'm going to get some champagne." She was going to get as far away from Damien as possible. "If you'll excuse me." She couldn't face any more time with the Bellmonts either.
She was seriously debating texting her driver at the bar - enough was enough - when she felt someone come up behind her.
"Mind if I sit here?"
She glanced round to see Toby. He was obviously in need of a drink too. "It's a free country," she retorted, because she wasn't even in the mood to be polite. The stupid barman was too busy with a couple on the other side to notice either of them anyway. What had happened to good service, she thought savagely?
Toby tried to get the guy's attention - nothing.
"Great," Blair muttered.
Toby looked at her for a moment. "Did Emerson really say that?" he enquired.
She arched an eyebrow. "You think I'd quote something incorrectly?" That made him smile a little; and his smile threw her off guard for a second. She paused. "He may not have said exactly that," she admitted after a beat.
Toby's quiet grin was almost infectious. "I'm Toby, by the way. Pleased to meet you."
She found her hand suddenly in his. "Blair." She was dimly aware that it was the first time in a long time that she hadn't introduced herself as Blair Waldorf. The first time in a long time that her name didn't sound like the title of someone she was desperate to be.
His brow furrowed a little. "I've seen you before, haven't I?"
As a general rule, Blair didn't appreciate having to remind people whether or not they'd seen her. But she supposed he hadn't exactly seemed in his right mind that day, and it wasn't like they'd been introduced. "Lily van der Woodsen's birthday party. And I know your cousin."
Toby laughed. "I remember. Tish mentioned someone called Blair a few times. She really liked your dress?" He glanced at her again, and there was a sparkle in his eye. "It was a pretty great dress."
Was he saying he did remember her, then? Blair blinked a little. "Well...obviously." She'd rather not remember anything about that party anyway. She'd spent the past few weeks trying to shove it as far to the back of her mind as she possibly could, and it still...hurt. She didn't want it to.
"So how do you know Damien?"
A little while later the barman was still oblivious to their presence. If Blair hadn't been talking to Toby, she'd have given the guy a piece of her mind a long time ago. What did you have to do to get a glass of champagne around here? Toby looked around briefly now. "I may give this up and go to an actual bar, since it doesn't look like we're going to get served any time soon." His gaze fell on her. "You're welcome to join me...only I'd rather leave now." He winced a little. "Because that Bellmont woman is on her way over."
Blair glanced round too. Not just the Bellmont woman. Damien was also on his way over, headed straight for them. She only paused for a moment. Damien was trying to catch her eye; that decided it. "I'll get my coat."
It wasn't till they were out of the stifling ballroom, and she was breathing in the cool air of the night that she realised she could, in fact, breathe. She hadn't realised just how good it felt. She'd been so focused on getting away from Damien - away from all of them - that it took her a second to remember Toby.
He glanced down at her. "Where do you want to go?"
The question made her blanche, suddenly. What was she doing? She'd been having a good time with him inside, and she'd been too caught up in that to realise she could actually like him. But going to get a drink with with him -
"I don't know." She was aware that her voice was much tighter again; and it seemed he was too.
His mouth curved a little as he regarded her. "Do you still want to do this?"
And this time she did hesitate. "I'm..."
His smile was gentle. "You're what?"
She swallowed. His brown eyes were soft, and they were nothing like Chuck's. His hair was honey gold and the wrong texture. Thinking about Chuck made her think of Chuck and Raina, and she felt that hollowness inside her again. (She'd always known that Chuck liked sleeping around, which was why she didn't understand how the thought of them could make her feel quite so miserable). "I'm sorry," she managed at last. "I can't."
He was serious for a second. "You're not a recovering alcoholic," he asked, gravely, "Are you?" She looked up and saw that sparkle again in his eye.
"No."
He was still smiling. He didn't push her to tell him what it was then. "Do you want me to call you a car?"
She exhaled, soft. "I have a driver."
"Then I'll wait with you till he comes," Toby said simply. He cocked an eyebrow before she could protest. "You're not going to make me feel bad for dragging you out of that gala, are you?"
Her lips pursed. "Trust me, you didn't drag me anywhere."
She wasn't used to this, she realised. Any of her interactions with attractive guys at boarding school had been all about her own power. About impressing on them exactly who she was so that she could maintain her reputation. And then Chuck -
She couldn't think about Chuck.
But she wasn't trying to get anything out of Toby, and there was no one watching. (And he wasn't Chuck).
She was oddly silent until her car pulled up. Toby didn't say anything, so she'd obviously put him off enough. Well, she'd be pissed too if she'd wasted half an hour at a bar with someone - without even a drink - only for them to pull a complete 180 at the last minute. He was clearly waiting for her to go.
She turned to say goodbye and he stopped her.
"Blair, I like you." His eyes crinkled down at her as she stilled. It sounded ridiculous, but no one had ever said...that to her before. Like? She was as vain and self-centered as a person could be, and even she wouldn't say she liked herself. "So, if you ever change your mind...can I give you my number? Don't worry," he added. "You won't break my heart if you say no. Well, not that much." His grin was faint.
She paused and wished he wasn't quite so charming. She found herself almost believing it was that easy. His smile seemed to say, calmly, that it could be. (And he wasn't Chuck).
"I-"
"Or you could just text to let me know you got back safely. Help my guilty conscience?"
She raised a brow at him. "In case something happens to me in the five minute car ride?"
"You shouldn't tempt fate," he assured her. She remembered too late that his father had just died in a car accident. His gaze twinkled, though.
So she took his number.
Carter dropped onto the couch in his penthouse as he held his phone to his ear. He'd spent the morning with an investor for Waldorf Designs, part of overseeing the company until Blair took control. "Tish," he drawled into the receiver now. "Happy birthday, beautiful."
"Carter." Tish sounded rather pleased to hear from him. "Oh, you remembered."
"I hope you've got a wild night planned."
"Hum," she sighed. "Sadly not. Everyone here's knuckling down for exams - God knows why. I wanted to go to London, but Maxxie's got important business with daddy. So I'll have to find some way of entertaining myself. Honestly," - he could practically hear her stretch on the other end of the line - "When did everyone get so boring?"
"Well, I sent you a package. It's not boring," he added with a smirk.
She perked up at that. "A present?" She sounded a little more enthusiastic now. "That sounds far more exciting."
"Maxxie forgot?"
"Well, I hope so." He could hear her frown. "Otherwise it may be trickier to convince him he has to buy me the new Valentino to make up for it."
Carter smirked again and was about to say something else when he heard movement outside. "I'd go for two presents if I were you. I'll speak to you soon."
"Bye, darling - thanks again!"
He hung up and pushed open the living room doors. Evelyn was waiting for him on the other side. He gave a little sigh, just about managing not to roll his eyes. But he was too smooth to ever be anything less than charming to parents. "Evelyn."
She smiled sinuously at him. "I'm sorry for the intrusion. I need to talk to you."
Let me guess. Chuck. Here we fucking go again. "Is everything ok?"
"No," she murmured, soft. "Not really. I'm going to tell you something, Carter, that I trust you won't repeat to anyone else. I think I can count on your discretion in this case. And I'm only telling you because I need you to listen."
He stared at her. Well this was a new one. His tone was even, wary. "All right then."
Evelyn sighed a little. She'd taken the chaise long, form curved in sleek grey as she glanced at him. Her black eyes were unreadable. "There are certain things that we - women especially - never talk about, because we'd prefer to forget they exist altogether. Still. There comes a point when they can't be ignored." Carter tried to work out what the hell she was getting at. But even he wasn't prepared for what she said next. "When I was seventeen, my mother caught me in the bathroom making myself vomit." She was expressionless as she carried on. "I told her it had never happened before, of course, and she was quite happy to believe me. She believed me two years later when I was hospitalized with stomach ulcers, and two years after that - well, she was dead and I didn't have to worry. I didn't have any more family to hide it from."
Carter was silent.
Evelyn gazed at him. "You don't spend nine years perfecting something like that without learning. I know the signs better than I know most things." Her face was perfectly composed. "I saw Blair at Lily's party."
"What exactly are you trying to say?" Carter's voice was like ice. He didn't trust Evelyn for a second. But at the back of his mind, he remembered what she'd said about the nightmares and just how true that had turned out to be. And he'd been the one to get the phone call four years ago from Canterbury Accademy, saying Blair had been referred to an eating disorder specialist after someone had tipped them off -
"I'll spell it out for you if I have to, but I can promise you Blair won't need the same thing. I can promise you she knows exactly what she's doing. And the only way to stop this," Evelyn murmured, "Is to confront it."
"She's fine." It was an automatic snarl. Because she'd stopped, she'd got help and Evelyn Bass was a fucking liar and he couldn't not have noticed, again, that she wasn't fine -
"Ignoring bulimia doesn't make it go away." Evelyn was so soft as she watched him, the hard slant of those cheekbones.
"She's not bulimic," Carter snapped.
"I'm sorry." There was no compassion in Evelyn's eyes. "A person never stops being bulimic. All it takes is a trigger." She regarded him. "I guess you just have to ask yourself what that trigger is."
"You want a trigger?" Carter spat. "How about your son?"
Evelyn's brow curved at him, and there was a layer of scorn in her voice now. "You think one person is responsible for what Blair's doing to herself? She's the only one doing this, sweetheart. She's the one with the problem."
Carter had got to his feet. He couldn't take this any more. "I'll have to ask you to leave," he said brusquely.
Evelyn gave him a final look. "Denial won't help anyone."
Then she swept out.